


HOT SPACE

by CrazyEyebrows



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Chaptered, Crying, Fights, Flashbacks, Hospitals, Hot Space Era, Hurt John Deacon, Led Zeppelin References, M/M, Men Crying, Overdosing, Panic Attacks, References to the Beatles, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyEyebrows/pseuds/CrazyEyebrows
Summary: Four fics about John Deacon and Hot Space.





	1. Backchat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk back, talk back  
> You've got me on the wrack  
> Twisting ev'ry word I say  
> Wind me up and get your way  
> Fat chance I have of making a romance  
> If I'm ever goin' to win  
> Have to get the last word in

 John sighed as he spun around again on the wheelie chair. He listened silently while Brian and Freddie were getting into another argument.

 “It does not sound like shit! It’s an emotional song! Tell him, John.” Freddie looked at John pleadingly, and he sighed again. John started at the ceiling, going in another circle.   


 “Cool Cat is an emotional song, Brian.” This only set him off further.

 “Fine! Fine! Let’s… Let’s just work on something else, then.” Brian sat down and started looking through their papers of lyrics. “For Backchat-”   
  
 “Don’t you dare.” John’s head snapped down at Brian. “Don’t fucking think about touching that song.” Brian glared.   


 “It could just use a solo, is all.”

 “What, a guitar solo? It’s a finished fucking song, Brian, leave it the hell alone!” Freddie and Roger watched on as the two began their own fight. Freddie turned, and walked out when his boyfriend pulled him aside. Roger groaned.

 “Unbelievable. I have to choose between you fuckers or Prenter?” John stood up, and slammed his hand down on the table.

 “It’s a finished song, Brian Harold May.”

 “Oh, I’m so scared, you used my full name!” Roger took this as queue to leave, and did so quickly. Brian crossed his arms.

 “I’m putting my solo in it, whether you like it or not.”

 “In your filthy fucking dreams.” Brian pondered this statement for a moment, and then grabbed John’s face. He smashed it into his own, and kissed him. John flailed, and was quick to pull away.

 “What the fuck was that?!”

 “You said, in my Filthy Fucking Dreams. Well, now it’s filthy. So we’re putting the solo in. “ John was outraged. He was more than outraged, he was running on a half hour nap and 6 cups of tea. This was the final straw for him. John pulled his bass off of his shoulder, and watched Brian flinch as he threw it across the room and walked out of the building casually. 

 It took all of maybe ten minutes, before John heard the sound of a car rolling up behind him.    
  
 “John. Please get in.” It was Brian driving, and like hell was John about to take orders from him. He very simply flipped the bird, and when Brian sped past him, he assumed that was enough to deter the tired guitarist.

 But no, as it turns out, Brian was simply waiting for him now at the end of the road. He had hopped out of the car, and was standing there with his hands on his hips.

 “Please, John? I’m sorry for upsetting you.” John stopped in his tracks, and stared the guitarist down. His face was blank, until he rolled his eyes and started towards the van. He hopped into the back, and Brian got back into the driver's seat and sped off.

 The ride was quiet, John mulling over how he felt. He wasn’t truly angry at Brian, if anything a little tired from all of the fighting, and the long days in the studio. That didn’t mean he wanted a guitar solo on his song, though, and John was preparing to tell Brian so.

 That was, until Brian stopped the car in front of a hotel. John furrowed his brows,  _ Why aren’t we going back to the studio? _ He thought. Brian seemed to read his mind;

 “I felt bad, so I decided to book us a hotel room for the night. Roger and Freddie wouldn’t be coming back anyhow, you know that. What do you say?” John licked his lips, thinking about it for a long moment. He eventually smiled, to Brian’s relief, and nodded.   


 “Alright, sure. Of course I will. Of course, Brian.” Brian grinned now, and got out of the van. John did the same, and Brian held out his hand. John furrowed his brows, but took his hand.

 “I hope you don’t mind that we’re on the seventh floor.”

* * *

 

 They got in the room, after a long elevator ride spent in an unsurprising silence. John flopped onto the single double bed.   
  
 “Eugh, ah, God Brian. This is a nice place, hmm?” Brian chuckled, closing the door behind him.

 "Ah, yeah. I've been here a few times." Brian started unbuttoning his shirt, and John looked towards him. John sat up, blinking Brian's way. He turned and stared through the sunset painted window. He looked down at the yellow and pink light in his hands,

 "Look, Brian, don't get the wrong idea…" There was a bite of worry in his voice, and Brian smiled.

 "Don't worry. I just… I just want to talk." Brian sits close to John. He thinks for a moment;

"Listen. I know you don't want a solo-" John stood up and scoffed.

 "Un-fucking-believable." Brian put his hands up in surrender,

 “Wait! Listen. Listen.” John crossed his arms, and started out the window. The blues and blacks of the night sky started to fall, and while he wanted to be mad, the sight before him was still breathtaking. “I’m not… I don’t want to argue. That can stay in the studio. What I want to say is, uh, I trust your judgement.” John looked to him. “And for now, I think you may be right. The song looks good on its own.” 

 John stared for a long moment, and slowly walked over to Brian. “You? Stepping away from an idea you had? Especially a solo? Where’s the Brian I know and despise?” Brian chuckled slightly,

 “You don’t despise me.” He said bravely. John raised a brow at that, stood mere inches from the older man.   


 “No? I guess you’re right. I don’t. I just despise how stubborn you can be.” John sighed, and backed away. He sat back down on the bed next to Brian, and very gently wrapped his arms around him. “... Thank you. For this. Taking me here. It’s nice.” Brian hummed in agreement, and brought his arm around John to rub his back.

 “It is.” 

 They sat in a comfortable silence, much different from that in the van. There was no tension. There was no annoyance. Just a soft feeling of admiration for one another while the dark overtook the room.

 Eventually, all that is good must come to an end. Brian pulled away and finished taking off his shirt. While he got under the covers, John went to the balcony to smoke. He brought the phone with him, keeping the door cracked open from the chord while he did.

 Brian could hear the dial, and the shakiness of his breath.

 “Paul? It’s John. Freddie’s with you, right?.... Ah. Okay then.” He hung up, and called again. “Roger. It’s John. Paul said Freddie’s with you?” Brian frowned slightly, hearing the whispered bout of worry in his bandmates voice. “Ah, Alright. Thank you. Tell him I’ll see him in the studio tomorrow, Brian and I are together so no need to worry…. I know. Alright. Bye, Roger.” 

 Brian pretended to sleep when he heard John step back inside. He closed the door, set the phone down, and crawled into bed. Brian felt the prickly cold of his skin, and against better judgement curled himself around John. John wrapped his arms around Brian.

 Brian could feel the wet tears against his chest, hear the sniffles and how John desperately tried to be quiet. Perhaps he should’ve comforted him further, told him it’s not his fault.

 

Instead, he lent him a quiet place to sleep, the warmth of a body he didn’t quite recognize, and the comfort of another person's presence. 


	2. Calling All Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Finally. Onto three, I go.

 Roger stared at the woman grinding into his lap. She was pretty, no doubt on that, but Roger found himself bored. Instead, his eyes wandered over towards his bandmates.

 They had all come as a group, banking in on some sleazy deal the management had cut them. Brian and John were definitely having fun, Brian throwing singles to one of the dancers, and John staring at a woman in his own lap. Freddie seemed to be nowhere to be found, probably in the back or having left the establishment already.

 How Roger wished that were him.

 Instead, he had to resort to sitting there uncomfortably, watching the ladies dance come to an end. He couldn’t remember her name, barely having heard it over the loud music in the first place.

 He smiled when she turned around and winked at him, faking arousal to the best of his abilities. He handed her a tip. She seemed pleased, smiling widely.

 “Thanks, sweetheart.” She walked away without further conversation. Roger sighed and took a sip of his cocktail, almost choking when he felt the pat of a hand on his shoulder. He turned quickly, finding that it was his fluffy haired bassist come to save the day.

 “Having fun?” John asked, whisper-yelling roughly in Roger’s ear. Roger grinned, just as fakely as before, and leaned in to reply,

 “Course. Enjoying the view.” John nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. He made a ‘Follow me’ motion with his hand, and walked off. Who was Roger not to comply?

 Roger found himself weaving through the packed club, sweaty bodies and dirty conversations barely being caught while rushing between them. Soon enough, the crowd grew quiet, and he felt the cold night air fresh on his skin.

 “You actually followed me? I’m surprised.” John said, in a sultry tone that made Roger shiver.

 “Of course I did. What’s this about?” Roger continued to follow John, both now walking side by side on the sidewalk. John was silent for a moment and ignored the question at hand. Instead choosing to hit a pack of marlboros against his hand.

 John opened it, and pulled a lighter from his back pocket. He made a gesture to Roger as though to ask if he wanted one. Roger hummed,

 “Hell yeah. Thanks. Always know how to make a good night, eh Deacy?”  John chuckled, handing a cigarette to Roger and putting his own in his mouth. He covered the flame to light it before handing the lighter to Roger. He sighed, and pulled it out of his mouth.

 “You seemed… Uncomfortable.” Roger looked towards John, and handed him back his lighter. He took a long inhale of smoke, feeling it fill his lungs before letting it go through his nose.

 “Yeah, I guess. Just wasn’t feelin’ it tonight.” He admitted. Roger always found it easiest to talk to John. He never tried to fix him, like Brian, or stopped paying attention, like Freddie. He just was. And Roger appreciated that.

 “No? Me neither.” John shrugged, and Roger furrowed his brows.  
  
 “You seemed like you were.” It came out more defensive than he meant, and Roger coughed a little as he took another drag. John brushed it off,

 “Yeah. I was for a bit. Just not always my thing, I guess. Don’t think Veronica would rather like seeing me in a place like that, anyway.” For a moment, Roger seemed to have forgotten about Veronica. John rarely brought her or their children up while touring, or in the studio, though Roger supposed it wasn’t too odd. He, too, seemed to forget about their lives at home. His own wife, and son. Roger sighed, and nodded.

 “Yeah. Makes sense.” John licked his lips, which Roger took acute notice to. He shivered, despite not being very cold. John noticed, because of course he did, and took another drag of his cigarette before speaking.

 “You ever think… I dunno. That it’d be easier?” John spoke vaguely, though Roger had somewhat of an idea what he was saying.

 “What do you mean?” He asked anyway, voice thick and scratchy. John shrugged,

 “Being… Like Freddie. With a man. Haven’t your eyes ever wandered?” Roger’s face turned red at the uncomfortable topic of conversation, and he looked away. He almost decided to change it, but figured John knew what he was doing.

 “Uh… Not really. I mean, I guess. Sort of? I haven’t really fancied any bloke, you know? There are some that’re like, oh, yeah, _if_ I were- which I’m not- I would." He sighed, brushing through his hair. John nodded, listening quietly.

 “If you were what?.” Roger glared slightly out of the corner of his eye, knowing that John was teasing him.

 “You know what.” John shrugged, looking both ways before continuing across the road towards the parking lot.

 “Yeah- yeah. Alright, I know. I dunno, maybe you should look into it more. Tell Dom and-” Roger cut him off rudely,

 “And get called a-a… you know? Thanks, but no chance in hell.” Roger stamped out his cigarette as the arrived to John’s car.

 “I doubt she’d do that. She’s your best friend.” John got in on the right, Roger on the left. Only then did Roger really comprehend that they were leaving.

 “Hey- wait. Where are we going?”John turned the key, smiling as the engine started.

 “Just out on a drive. We can circle back here later to get the tall one." John grinned at his own words, and Roger chuckled.

 “Oh. Alright.”

 John turned up the radio, letting the sweet sound of Whole Lotta Love sift through the air. Roger sat back, sighing softly and relaxing as the repetitive, yet calming, lyrics washed over him. He hummed along quietly, and rolled down his window. Staring out into the starry sky, watching the night fall as John drove down some lonely backroad, he couldn’t be happier.

 

_The middle of nowhere, next stop: Never. Hopefully._

 

 Roger lolled his head towards John lazily, and smiled at the concentrated bassist. He had one arm out the window, the other on the steering wheel, and Roger could see his fingers tapping along ot the sultry beat.  John stopped the car, pulling it to the side of the road. Roger looked over to him, and for a moment, he was certain they were having the exact same thought.  
  
 John looked at him, and Roger stared back. In what felt like years- but in reality was less than a moment- John licked his lips, and it was over. John had won over whatever mentality Roger had- had seen through his charade. They leaned over at the same time, John struggling to unlock his seatbelt while they kissed passionately. Roger moaned, a broken, soft sound that was barely noticable if it fell onto the right ears. John got his buckle undone, and he crawled over Roger’s lap.

 Roger started to freak out now. The kiss was nice, sure, but he had never done this before. Would John want more from him? Was Roger going to have to prepare to tell him no? Would he even manage that?

 While all of this rushed through his head, John had stopped kissing back. Roger opened his eyes, and watched John pull away with a snide little smile. Roger was confused, until John leaned in and hugged him.

 “I’m not going to fuck you. Stop worrying. I just wanted to…” John pulled away, and got back into his own seat. “Show you what you had been missing. I suppose.” Roger smiled at John’s cheeky grin that formed along his face. Roger ran a hand through his hair.   
  
 “Ah, right, right. Of course.” Roger cleared his throat and sat up more straight. “Thanks, I guess?”

 John seemed fidgety now, and Roger put a hand on his shoulder.

 “Thank you. Maybe we should go get Brian before he notices we left.”

 “You’re right- fuck- how have we already been out here for 20 minutes?” Roger laughed, closing his eyes as he listened to John’s engine rumble. 

 They returned to the club, and Brian hopped in the back of the car, grumbling about being left behind. Roger didn’t say anything about the tear stains, and Brian didn’t say anything about Roger and John’s puffy lips.

 Yeah,  
Roger could probably make this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is! I hope you all like it, im having a ton of fun with this idea so far. pllleeeassee bare with me and my slow writing.


	3. Cool Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie and John

 Freddie’s eyes darted across the room, suspicious and paranoid. He knew many people here, but there were, even more, he didn’t. Lennon was shot dead only three years ago- perhaps it was the anniversary of it? He didn’t remember. He figured, if he’d gotten to this point, he must not have wanted to remember. Maybe he was to get shot, too. Metaphorically? Physically, he was being ‘shot up’, he could feel the sting of a needle as one of the men around him hit into it, trying to kiss him. Freddie rolled his eyes back, barely kissing the stranger. He knew he needed to stop. The new disease was going to find him. It was going to kill him if he didn’t stop. But he couldn’t. He kissed back harder as another pair of lips fell on his, he wasn’t even sure if these men knew who he was. His voice was broken, now, anyway. He could barely move, barely see, everything started going black, and the bliss of death, maybe an overdose? This was how most of them died. This was how Elvis died, wasn’t it? Or a heart attack? Stroke, maybe? Freddie didn’t know, but dear god was it coming. And on one level, he wasn’t ready, he wanted to show the world his music, sing them his songs, but on another, it seemed so nice, and maybe if he just closed his eyes-

 “Fred? Freddie? Are you alright?”  That voice- it carried through into his mind. Though it was so quiet, a whisper, he could barely hear it. Maybe Paul had come back to reprimand him for trying to die. He hadn’t finished his album yet, barely started. Maybe that was why.

 “Freddie fucking Mercury! Get up- for fuck's sake!” That definitely wasn’t Paul. How stupid to think so- he felt the needle being ripped out of his arm and sighed in relief as the pressure was gone. All of the bodies had shifted away, other than one’s hands still on him. It felt hot- terrible.

 “Get off of me!” Is what he tried to shout, though he could hear that it sounded more like ‘Geehoffeeee’. The other person didn’t seem to like that very much, and Freddie felt the sting of a slap to the face. 

 “Stop it! Stop! Come on now you fucker, get up!” Finally, the voice registered.

 “John?” Freddie asked quietly as he was pulled to his feet.

 “Oh, so you haven’t completely forgotten about me? Just decided not to call? Typical.” Freddie opened his eyes and looked around. Right. A club. New York. His albums- where’s Paul?

 “Where’s Paul?” Freddie asked, causing John to scoff. 

 “Ooh, where’s Paul? I don’t know, he ran off. He didn’t give a fuck about you, no more than the shag he was promised. So, gone. Stop worrying about him now, and rather worry about yourself.” Freddie felt the cold air hit his face and arms as he was pulled out of the club. It cooled the sweat on his skin, and he groaned.

 "Is… how…" Freddie gathered his thoughts and opened his eyes, tearing up at the blurry sight of his John. His. He stopped moving with John, to which John made an annoyed grunt. 

 "What?" John asked, and Freddie found himself in front of John's car door.

 "I love you." Freddie tried, and John just scoffed. Freddie felt a hurtful push, and then he was falling.

And then he realized he only fell into the car. 

 "Hospital." He managed, just barely. That, finally made John hesitate.

 “I’m sorry?” John asked quietly, leaning closer to Freddie. “You’re whispering.” Freddie tried putting a hand on John’s shoulder and missed, hand hitting back into his thigh.

 “I...,“ He started, 

 Then everything went black, finally. 

That was it.

 The last thing he’d see, John’s delicate face, fluffy hair…

 Freddie was okay with that.

* * *

Sweat, men, and alcohol. The disgusting pungent smell made John want to gag. How did he do it? How could Freddie just walk into these kinds of parties? John didn’t want to think about it.

 He checked the back of his hand, ensuring again that this is the place. After a look around he sighed and concluded that yes, this was the fuckhole he was supposed to be in. He looked very out of place, seeing men naked and fucking like animals everywhere. If they weren’t fucking, they were dancing, barely clothed more than the ones having sex. With his patterned button-up and high waisted jeans, he was turning no heads. 

This only proved to be an issue after walking through the club, sliding between men and turning down two, when he found what he was looking for. 

 “Hello- I need you to move. Uh- Fred? Freddie? Are you alright?” His quiet stature was ignored, until he felt something crawling up his leg.

He looked down and jerked away at the man running his fingers up his thigh.

 “Goddammit, no! Uh- bad boy?” He rolled his eyes as the man looked up at him before turning to crawl away.

_ Bad boy? What the hell was that? Oh my god, it doesn’t matter, for fucks sakes- _

“MOVE.” He yelled, startling a few of the men on his mustache clad singer. Slowly but surely he got them to fall away. 

“Freddie fucking Mercury! Get up- for fuck's sake!” He yelled, then looked him over. He didn’t seem hurt, other than a protruding needle from the inside of his elbow. John sighed, and kneeled down next to Freddie, carefully steadying one hand on his chest while releasing the pressure tie he had around his bicep before sliding the needle out and throwing it to the side haphazardly. Freddie groaned and lolled his head a little. 

 “Geeehoffeee!!!” Freddie yelled, though it came out slurred, broken, and quiet. John felt a lump in his throat as he held back tears at his best friends state. He took a deep breath, and violently slapped Fred across the face. What concerned him the most was how none of the men near him seemed to be concerned at all. Anything could be happening, anyone could be doing it. There was no order- no safety. John begged the question again, how? He sighed, and cleared his throat.

 “Stop it! Stop! Come on now you fucker, get up!” He pulled on Freddie, who stared blankly at him. He almost looked dead, and it scared John. Freddie’s expression changed barely,

 “John?” He whispered, and John is thankful. He sighed softly, glad Freddie can recognize him. Though he’s glad, and he’s worried, he’s angry more than anything. Angry that he’s there, angry that he has to be there for Freddie when he has a family to tend to. Angry that Freddie had changed so, and done this to himself.

 “Oh, so you haven’t completely forgotten about me? Just decided not to call? Typical.” He finally pulled him up, pulling Freddie towards the exit, carefully moving around people and suspicious floor spots. He kept his arm wrapped around Freddie’s chest, letting his head loll into his shoulder. It reminded John of before, back at Ridge, when everything was perfect. John remembered how Freddie felt when he was falling asleep, noted that it was similar in an eerie way. . Now, he’s just… gone. 

 “Where’s Paul?” Freddie asked quietly, and that made John even angrier. If he had felt sad and sympathetic before, it was gone. 

 “Ooh, where’s Paul? I don’t know, he ran off. He didn’t give a fuck about you, no more than the shag he was promised. So, gone. Stop worrying about him now, and rather worry about yourself.” Maybe it was a lie. Maybe he had gotten the payphones call at two in the morning, and listened as Paul drunkenly slurred that he couldn’t look after Freddie, and that he needed John to come get him. But that didn’t mean Paul cared about Freddie in the long run, and John felt solace in knowing that he was still a thought on either of their minds. Finally, he got Freddie out of the club, and felt him shiver against the cold December’s bitter air. 

 “Is… how…?”  _ How what? How did you find me? How did you know? How has he left?  _  His thoughts were interrupted as Freddie stopped walking with him. He grunted and looked him over again.

 “What?” John asked, turning Freddie to lean against the car as he unlocked the door. He opened it as Freddie stared at him, and soon he stared back.

 “I love you.” Freddie whispered, and it hurt John. Those words, they felt like Freddie had just stabbed him and stole his wallet. Or his heart. He couldn’t help but let the tears fall now, barely holding it together as it is. He pushed Freddie into the seat without another thought. As he fell into it, Fred's face manifested into that of fear. Finally having a real emotion shown, and not looking so cold. John almost preferred it the other way, as it made everything easier. He was about to close the door, before he heard a mumble.

 "I'm sorry?" He whispered, leaning in towards Freddie. "You're whispering."

 John watched as Freddie put his hand out, and immediately slapped it back against his thigh before passing out against him.

 Now, John had been crying before, but this called for true hysteria to start. He jerked away from Freddie's limp body, and stared wide-eyed at it before slamming the car door shut. He regained his senses for a moment before running around to the drivers side and hopping in, purposefully choosing to ignore the warm body next to him. He fumbled with the keys, dropping them once with his struggle. Soon enough, the car was on, and he was speeding down the road, trying to remember how to get to the hospital in his panic. He kept glancing towards Freddie, slumped over, still limp. He didn’t want to know if he had passed out or died.  

 John had come to pick Freddie up twice before at parties like this. Once, after the release of their first big hit- Killer Queen- and the other time being back in ‘77, when he’d tried to forget his recent breakup. The first was much more delightful, in a happy, silly tone, as John remembered it. 

_ “Freeedddieee, oh my god!! We’ve got to go!” John laughed, cheeks pink and neck bruised. He’d been out with his girlfriend all night, but had just dropped her off at home, so decided to come and pick Freddie up. _

_  “One more drink! Just one! Pleaaase John, just one drink with me!” Freddie’s voice was high, and soft, and different from his usual state. The real Freddie- his Freddie- was quiet and shy when they were alone. The kind to laugh at everything, while also being much more confident than John. John brought his hand through Freddie’s hair once again, reveling in how soft it was. Long, dark, and beautiful.  _

_  “One! Then we have to leave, Veronica’s waiting for me at home, Fred.” John said it almost bitterly, but tried to keep the smile he’d been sporting. Things with his girlfriend had been doing all right, but they were fighting a little, and it was sad. _

_  “Oooh, I would never keep Veronica from her cock! Trust me.” Freddie winked playfully before ordering himself and John another set of drinks. John just laughed, the pink tint to his cheeks becoming redder as time passed. Their fruity, gay cocktails were set down in front of Freddie, and he picked them up. John felt the hot brush of his fingers as Freddie handed him his. _

_  “To us.” Freddie held up his glass. John clinked theirs together. _

_  “To us.” He agreed with a smile before they both downed the drinks. John set his glass down as Freddie stood up and- _

_  John felt the fist into his shirt, and the soft lips smashed against his own. In the moment, as a 23 year old boy it was just a hasty and drunken smooch as he’d assumed it. Now, however, as a 31 year old man, he remembers it as the beginning of the end. _

__  “You can’t fucking die on me, old man.” John mumbled to himself, glancing only slightly towards Freddie’s body. He took a deep breath before pulling his hand away from the wheel. He hesitated before going to check his pulse. Which would feel worse? Reaching for his neck? Having to move the weight of his head just to know if he's alive? Or reaching for his hand- as he'd done so many times in the past? Freddie had always been there for him, in times of stress, in times of happiness, or in need. He took another deep breath and reached for his wrist, carefully trying to keep an eye on the road and feel for a beat at the same time.

 It was slow. It was faint. John knew that wasn't good, but it was something. He prayed Freddie wouldn't suffer any long term effects from this, or worse. The panic settled in a different way now. He wasn't crying anymore, but his stomach twisted. His head hurt and he felt nauseous. John prayed for Freddie, and for himself. He wondered absently if Freddie had been through this before, and remembered the second time he brought Freddie home. 

_ It was a different anxiety than he'd ever felt to hear that Freddie was hurt, and needed him. It made it no better that John was told nothing more than to go to his home and help him. He anxiously rang the doorbell.  _

_  Without an answer, he let himself in. He heard, almost instantly, the hysterical sobs coming from the bedroom. Without a second thought, John rushed over. _

_  Of all the things he could expect, it was surely not Freddie Mercury, strongest man on earth, sobbing while shirtless and drinking from a bottle of scotch under his bed.  _

_  "Freddie? Freddie, my dear what's wrong?" He spoke in a soft voice, getting down next to the bed as Freddie began to crawl out. He took the drink from him, and noticed that he'd spilled it everywhere. John didn't care when he felt Freddie's wet skin stain his t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around Freddie. _

_  "O-oh Jo-hn!" Freddie wailed and hiccuped dramatically, obviously drunk but also genuine. _

_  "I've broke-en up with him! I.. I c-ouldn't do it… I-I wasn't  _ _ strong _ _ enough." He buried his face into John's neck as his words sunk in. Not strong enough? Who was this, and where was his loving and warm Freddie Mercury? _

 John wondered again now, years later- Where was his loving and warm Freddie? The body next to him was hardly it. He'd gone cold, limp, and surely not loving. Freddie only grew stronger from that night, as John was sure he'd do again. Slowly, he regained faith for Freddie.

 John pulled into the hospital parking lot, not bothering to park before getting out and running inside.

 "My friend! My friend's passed out, a-and he's gone cold! Please come help me!" He didn't dare scream the truth he wanted,  _ "My love, Freddie Mercury has overdosed and I need help. I can't live without him, you need to bring him back, you have to."  _

 In no time at all, he was bringing rushed doctors over to his old, beat up volvo with a stretcher. They got Freddie out, and he heard one of them quietly exclaim,

 "That's Freddie  _ fucking  _ Mercury!" 

 And then another,

 "Who?" 

 John couldn’t react, he was too panicked. A nurse pulled him inside, trying to comfort him as they rolled him into the hospital. John’s face was numb as the tears stained it pink. He brought his hands up to his face and wiped them away as he watched Freddie go through a set of automatic doors. This wasn’t the first time he’d watched Freddie go through those doors, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. John sighed and put his head in his hands, embarrassed, upset, scared. He nodded when the nurse offered him water, and he moved to sit down. 

 “Thank you,” He said when she handed him the plastic cup. He noticed that, this time, his hands didn’t shake. He remembered the first time being in a hospital for someone else.

_  “Will daddy be okay?” _

_  “Of course ducky. The doctors will-” _

_  “Miss? When you get a moment…” _

He took a sip of his water and stopped himself short. This- what Freddie was here for- it was nothing like what’d happened. This was something he could help. Something he could stop. John threw back the last of the water cup, and went up to the desk.

 “When do you think I can see him?”

* * *

 John stared down the bed from the doorway. Every other part of this, it was easy. Given how hard it all was, this was the worst. Looking down upon Freddie. So fragile. So gentle. He slowly forced himself to step over, steps almost in time with the beeping of the monitor. He sighed and put a hand over Freddie’s, which had warmed up. He smiled sadly, and leaned down to kiss Freddie’s hand.  _ I love you _ He thought, unable to trust his voice not to scream it. 

 John stayed there until Freddie’s eyes opened, seeing the confused, then happy, then scared look on his face. 

 “J-on…” His voice cracked loudly, and John smiled at him.

 “Hey Fred. It’s alright, I’m here.” He sniffled, 

_  “As I always am, and always will be.  _

_ I'm here." _


End file.
